


faith

by emcees



Category: The Exorcist (1973)
Genre: Character Death, Dreams, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Non-Chronological, Priests, Sort of AU, joe is sad and deserves more attention, surreal-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15516072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emcees/pseuds/emcees
Summary: Joseph Dyer dreams and remembers.





	faith

He dreams of falling through the clouds, them airy and weightless and himself anything but. He watches as they turn from white to grey and then darker and darker the further down he goes. It takes him a century to fall and he does nothing but weakly grab at the air and keep his face towards the sky. As the clouds get more distant, the rooftops of buildings take their place, growing thicker and thicker like a forest of concrete and brick until his body finds itself between the walls of two houses. Downwards, downwards he goes, until there’s a stair rail in his periphery. His spine touches a step and he wakes up.

 

* * *

Maybe if Joe had his collar on he could have parted the crowd like Moses in his urgent attempt to save his own kind before it was too late, but instead he had to shove his way through, forcing the crowd to move out of his way so he could catch a glimpse of Damien. Every part of him resisted the idea of seeing him, but he knew he had to keep going, even though he recoiled at the sight of Damien’s crumpled body on the sidewalk. He couldn’t see his face, but it was impossible to mistake him for anybody else with his dark hair and body build and black robes.

_ Oh, God -- _

There wasn’t a single prayer that sprang to his lips at that moment, even though he could have said hundreds. Just the desperate,  _ oh, God,  _ echoed in his mind as he knelt beside the body of his friend. He grabbed his hand, feeling the warm blood pooling around Damien making his palm sticky. Joe stifled a sob and said, “Do you want to make your confession?”

Damien reacted to the sound of his voice, even if just barely. His fingers flexed around Joe’s hand. 

_ Not Damien, anyone but him, please Lord -- _

He struggled to find the next words. “Are you sorry--" His voice caught in his throat. Oh, Jesus, was he ever sorry.

 

* * *

 

Jesus died and rose again three days later. Damien wakes up with Joe sitting next to his bed.

“Hey,” Joe says. “It’s been a while.”

Damien blinks, squints in the stale lighting of the hospital. “I’m sore,” he says.

“I would be surprised if that weren't the case.” Joe sends him a smile, dampened down as he watches Damien try to make sense of all that had happened, where he is now.

“The girl,” Damien says after a number of seconds of nothing. “Was that--”

“She’s alright.”

“--real?”

Joe hears his last word, exhales. He wonders what could possibly be swirling in Damien’s mind, what he remembered from that night. Perhaps he’s fortunate he could remember anything at all.

“Yeah,” Joe says softly. “It was real.”

Damien pauses. “Am I paralyzed?”

“I don’t know, you just woke up.”

His dark eyes move, grazing along the ceiling, going anywhere but Joe’s face. Joe breaths in, out, sits up straighter as Damien’s eyelids fall back down, softly. “I saw my mother,” he murmurs.

“How was she?”

“Peaceful.” He pauses again. “But I don’t know if it was real.”

 

* * *

He held Damien’s hand for the first time in Damien’s room while he was half asleep and telling Joe about the days when he was a boxer and not a priest.

“I told you my story wasn’t interesting,” he mumbled as Joe observed the hardened hands that engulfed his.

“Everyone’s pathway to priesthood is interesting,” was Joe’s retort.

“Not mine.”

Joe turned Damien’s hands over, skimming his fingers over the hair that adorned the back of them, and looked up at the older man. He was hunched over, head raised but eyes down.

“How come you never talk to the other priests?” Joe asked.

“They’re busy.”

“But they always come to you.”

“They come for advice and with clerical questions. Based on that, I’d say that they’re busy with their own matters.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re the only one who comes for casual conversation.”

Damien still hadn’t retracted his hands. They were calloused and heavy, much different than Joe’s slim, light hands that leaped across piano keys so easily.

“You know you can talk to others, Damien.”

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

So he was. But it always felt like he was holding something back. The mystery of Damien’s existence was the first thing that had attracted Joe to him, but that had long since warped into something else. First it leapt to the glimpse of a gentler personality buried behind his tough exterior, then to his intelligence and rationality. And then, one day, Joe’s heart skipped a beat when he saw his dark eyes, his cheekbones, the way he carried himself. He was nearly breathless now just holding his hands, as if the Shroud of Turin were there instead.

“You still never told me  _ why  _ you became a priest,” Joe said.

“I don’t see why it matters.”

Joe enclosed his hands around Damien. The latter sighed and held his breath, lips parted but no sound dare coming out. It was always tense around Damien and that was why it mattered so much to know  _ why _ , just to see if Damien had the same feelings Joe did, if he suffered the same temptation. It was like walking a tightrope with Damien. If Joe didn't keep the mood light, they would topple over with no net to catch them.

 

* * *

He’s falling, and the world is strangely quiet. He’s more at peace than he’s ever been before, tumbling down, down into nothingness. There’s nothing around him to give him any indication of where he’s at, where he’s coming from. He wakes up when he hits the ground and he gasps for air.

 

* * *

It’s January and Damien is still bedridden. His face is pale and his eyes are gaunt but he’s back in his tiny bedroom, now. Sometimes, the other priests visit him; mostly it’s Joe who does. He’s there with him one night when Damien goes to sleep, and Joe falls asleep himself in a chair propped up next to his bed, until he’s awoken by Damien jolting upward. He casts his attention towards Joe as the younger man nearly topples out of his chair.

“Father Merrin,” Damien starts, voice distraught, “he’s dead.”

“I know, Damien.”

That makes him hesitate. Joe can see the weight of reality settling into Damien’s face as he processes his surroundings, all that had happened since that night.

“Relax,” Joe soothes. “You’re alright. Just dreaming.”

His shoulders droop. It’s all coming back to him. “Have you been here all night?”

“Yeah, fell asleep on accident, I guess.”

“That chair can’t be too comfortable.”

“It’s not like my bed’s much better.”

That makes Damien smile, if only for a minute. He pauses, and then he says, “You won’t leave now, will you?”

Joe’s breath caught in his throat. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Damien nods, leans back against his pillow. “It’s silly of me to ask,” he murmurs.

“It’s alright, I think I’m too tired to walk back to my room, anyway.”

Silence overtakes the priests. Damien’s eyes close, and so do Joe’s. It’s comfortable, being alone with Damien, even when he’s this vulnerable. It feels right being there with him.

“Hey, Joe?”

The sound of his own name startles him. He opens his eyes to see Damien still with his head against his pillow, eyes shut.

“Yeah?”

“I talk to the other priests, sometimes.”

He grins and answers, “This doesn’t count. We’re all coming into your room again, not the other way around.”

There’s a beat. And then: “Maybe I can give yours a visit sometime.”

“Maybe.” Joe’s voice is barely louder than a whisper.

 

* * *

He dreams of Damien’s arms around him, holding him against a mattress, lips hot against his throat. He’s enveloped in a bliss that feels so visceral, so  _ real _ , that he hardly gives a damn about his vows, about the fact that he’s sinfully in love with his best friend. In his dreams, Damien always wants him. Needs him.

 

* * *

“How do you know if it’s all real?”

Joe took a drag on his cigarette and cocked an eyebrow. “Playing devil’s advocate now?”

“Not if I don’t believe in a devil.”

Joe laughed and scratched his forehead. “I’m used to hearing people coming in saying that, not other priests.”

Damien leaned back in his chair. “What good is being a priest if you don’t have a theological discussion every once in a while?”

“Sure, but not about whether or not God is real.”

“You can’t tell me that you don’t have doubts sometimes.”

“This is the most I’ve gotten out of you in all the time I’ve been here,” Joe remarked. “A priest with doubts. I figured you out, finally.”

“I’m serious, Joe.”

Joe’s smile faltered. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not if you’re being serious. You’re not thinking about leaving the priesthood, are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably not.”

“What else would you do?”

“I have psychiatry.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“So?”

“You’d miss me too much.”

A smirk danced on Damien’s lips. “Maybe I would.”

“You better be glad you have me, given how bad you are at making friends.” Joe blew smoke from his mouth, moved towards Damien, and nudged his shoulder. “You know?”

“Yeah,” Damien answered, voice low, heavy.

Joe held his breath for a moment and said, “Faith is the best answer I have for you.”

Damien glanced up at Joe, eyes pleading, desperate. “Sometimes faith isn’t enough.”

This what it was like to be Eve.

 

* * *

He dreams he’s falling, without reason, without panic, and when he hits the ground he opens his eyes and he finds himself in Damien’s bed. Their bodies are pressed tightly together, chests bare, legs tangled. Damien’s asleep, hair mussed, snoring low. He hasn’t had a nightmare in months. Joe can’t tell when he’s awake and when he’s not.

 

* * *

Joe wakes up at 6 AM. There’s a bouquet of flowers on his dresser. He blinks, remembers that today he’s going to the cemetery. It’s been seven months since Damien fell to his death, seven months that Joe had spent looking for an answer as to what happened, but without any success.

He rolls back onto his mattress and exhales. He dreamed that he was with Damien again, sleeping together, kissing, murmuring that everything was okay now, that they could leave the priesthood any day. It felt so real sometimes that it’s too difficult to wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> i like the exorcist's exploration of the fear that comes with being uncertain, the fear of knowing a truth that you don't want to accept because it's just too horrible. and i decided to apply that to joe. i hope this wasn't too miserable to read.


End file.
